It's the Little Things that Count

Somehow trips to Costco always cry out to be the blogging subject of the day.

Here's the confusing thing: Costco is the largest store in the known universe, right? I mean, the aisles can comfortably accomodate earth-moving equipment. So how is it that people still manage to block the aisles? The absolutely amazing part is the manner in which such people blatantly pretend to ignore you as they're perusing 1,826 identical crates of sugar packets. It is, in fact, impossible not to see a Costco cart coming at you--the blind can sense such massive vehicles by the way they warp the earth's magnetic field upon approach. But the browsers will simply stand, hand on chin, clucking to themselves softly, peering about as if one of the crates might contain the lost Codices of Enkidu. The urge to ram them senseless is very strong sometimes.

The much more personal crisis occured in the parking lot, however. It isn't Costco specific, either--it's a plague that afflicts many a store parking lot across this nation and, I daresay, the civilized world. It is, of course, the curse of unstowed shopping carts. I found myself parked at the far end of the aisle and several rows over from the nearest cart return, so it was a journey to get my empty cart to it's home. Along the way I passed a dozen untenanted carts strewn haphazardly among the spaces, rammed up into planters, hung from tree branches, and so on. Somehow I was overcome with a smug sense of pride over following the rules of the parking lot; I was then overcome by shame for the same reason, plus the added realization that I was such a petty little man.

I understand there are some moments when you must abandon a cart: you have small children strapped in the car; there is a fire at your house and you must return to rescue your elderly maiden aunt; you are a secret agent and have just observed your nemesis purchasing a twenty-gallon jug of nerve agent and a Kirkland (R) brand Happee-Timez Nerve-Agent Dispenser and you must stop him before he initiates his plan to take over the world. But that still leaves most of us without excuse. I don't know why this particular thing sticks in my craw; like all such pet peeves, it's petty and minor; far easier, I suppose, to get worked up over the guy in the drive-through behind you who has the bass cranked up way too far (and is thereby making your vehicle jump some three feet off the pavement with each beat) or people shouting threateningly at you to take part in Red Ribbon Week or else you are a soulless monster (if you're on a college campus, anyway) than about the vast devestation caused by natural disasters (in the face of which you feel helpless) or the woes of the unending poor.

So help the small-minded among us stay distracted from large, scary issues. Drop your fast-food trash on the median strip of the highway. Natter on endlessly about how your cats are like your children. And by all means, leave a mountain of tangled shopping carts in the aisles of your local stores. You're saving us from despair.